“You can only be young once. But you can always be immature.”
Dave Barry
“One… Go!”
We both open the doors and go in at the same time.
SLAM! The door closes loudly behind me. The sound of wood against metal resonates in the room.
Everyone’s attention – Crankston’s included – is suddenly focused on me.
Showtime!
I hold down the feeling of nausea threatening to climb up my throat. It was a normal reaction I learned to ignore.
Suck it up, Michaels! You can fucking do this! You are one scary-hell-of-a-bitch!
I saunter past the board and the teacher’s table, slinging my bag casually like I own the fucking place.
The room was designed in a minimalistic style in neutral shades of blue, brown and grey. Fluorescent lights mount the surface of the ceilings, brightening up the entire place. An AC was installed on either side of the room, keeping out the late summer heat from beating through the wide slider windows and inside the room.
Six columns of steel desks with smooth Cedar Wood tops occupy the middle of the room in four straight rows. Under them, bags and books were strewn across the floor obstructing the pathways. At the back of the room was a wide bulletin board that stretched from one side of wall to the other. Papers of various sizes containing announcements, memos and other school-related documentations were neatly pinned and sorted according to their classifications on the wall.
I focus my attention to the people inside the room, particularly to the person who thinks he is in charge.
Crankston was first to recover and in a scornful manner, crosses his arms over his small paunch as he appraise my tardiness. “Miss Michaels, what a surprise. I am so honored that you have decided to grace my class with your presence whilst late – again.” He adds bitingly.
A student from the back row snickers.
A low rattling sound comes from the door. I watch as Emile’s face press to the door’s window from the outside. He points to the direction of the knob.
Locked.
FICK! I did not expect that.
“Quiet!” Crankston barks. He steps a few feet forward in my direction where the front of the class is.
You know that expression of high school never ends?
Not a big fan but I can’t disregard the eventual truth, take Crankston for example. I may have only met him these past few days but it was enough for me to sniff out his type. Clearly he was a sniveling nerd who never got the acknowledgment and common respect he deserved back in high school so he makes up for it by abusing his status as a teacher and being an ass.
Even while dressing the part of the teacher with his crisp Polo shirt tucked to his beige slacks, his polished dark-brown wingtip loafers, a shiny Rolex on his thin wrist and a pair of non-descript wire-framed glasses he was still an opportunistic pretentious chauvinistic ass with the delusion that’s he’s a ten rather than a two at best.
Wait, I forgot he’s married. Make that two … and a half. Condolence to the woman he suckered.
He turns back to me and fixes a stern glare at me through his glasses. “Well?”
Uhh, no. He does not get a proper answer from me by intimidating me like he does to others. Doesn’t he know that old-school style doesn’t work on me?
Furthermore, I still have to worry on how to smuggle a gay man inside under his long narrow nose.
I turn to Tia and motion to the door with my eyes. She follows my gaze and sees Emile.
Distract him, her eyes tell me as she quietly stands up without a pip or a squeak.
Right, aggravate him – gotcha!
I don on an apathetic mask from my eyes, to the position of my body and down to the very tips of every strand of my hair. I give him bored look. Like he’s an unnecessary speck of dust that I’m brushing off my shoulder.
I smirk.
“Funny you said that. I didn’t have much better to do and it just so happens that the sheriff didn’t have a vacant cell around so I decided, ’Hey, I might as well waste my time here. Feels like prison, anyways.’’” I jerk my elbow and make a sign of approval with my thumb. I add in a wink for an optimal-sarcastic effect.
That earns me some more snickers from everyone.
“Is that so?” He asks, unperturbed and slides his glasses up his nose. “Then would you like to take a seat or do you need a police escort for that too? Perhaps slap some handcuffs on your wrists and shove your neck down while you take a seat?”
I raise my brows slightly at the unspoken challenge. I give him the frostiest glare I have and make a cross between a smirk and a pout.
“Well-well, Crankston, I didn’t expect you to know how to make a girl feel special,” I coo. “Can’t say the same worked for your wife, though.”
The other students were trying to hide their quaking laughter. A few hoots. That seems to rile him a bit. Bingo.
Tia was already by the door, walking sideways by the wall like a ninja. She unlocks it and opens the door. Emile rushes in as they both go to their seats. A few minutes more and they’ll be safely seated without anybody to tell the difference.
Just a few minutes of shouldering the pain of the people’s attention over me. Emile should know better than to giving me lip for the rest of the day. The sacrifice I’m doing for him!
I return my attention back to Crankston.
“It’s Mister Cranston, for you, Miss Michaels. Take a seat. Now,” he adds more weight on the last word.
That’s it? No, not yet.
“Okay, just messing with you, dude.” I casually wave my hand in a dismissing manner. I lean in and stage-whisper, “We both know it’s the wife who has the problem. But hey,” I drop my shoulders in an exaggerated shrug and with a mournful sigh, “Just blame it on the women I guess.”
I watch as the eyes of every female in the room – aside from Tia’s – settle on him. This irks him more. It’s not my fault he was a bigot.
“Miss Michaels,” he says, tightly. Red blotches begin to appear on his narrow face, the nostrils of his long hawkish nose were flaring. “I’m not gonna as-
SQUEEAAAK! The shrill sound of wood scraping against the linoleum floor interrupts him.
Emile, who had already arrived at his assigned seat behind Tia’s, had just dragged the seat back.
Could he not just spend the day – much less five fucking minutes – without making a fucking sound? I wonder if I can convince him that glue sticks and Chapsticks are the same.
Crankston makes a move to find the source of the sound unless I think of something quick.
“No offense, Mister Cranston,” I mentally smirk as I got his attention back. Gotcha. I continue, “on you as a man but don’t you think it’s a little unfair?”
He frowns, unsure of what I’m leading him into. Behind him, Emile was now safely seated and taking selfies with his phones. He was probably posting about getting away from a near-detention experience. Meanwhile, I, his friend who had so graciously helped him, am still preoccupied.
Wonderful.
“Malleus Mollificarum, Virginity Checks, Honor Killing and even female genocide? Don’t get me wrong,” I raise a reassuring hand to stop him from interrupting, “sir,” he nods for me to continue on, “I salute you for teaching us the dominant patriarchal view of the European society throughout the years.”
He puffs his chest, clearly pleased with my ‘praise’. I wasn’t finish though.
“But, don’t you think women were so disempowered, unjustly treated and objectified? Why can’t we also recount our studies base off the views of strong womanly figures too? There are so many things to consider about history from their own side not to mention having them as inspirational figures for being survivors of gender oppression.”
Sounds of approval begin to flow throughout the female students. Some were whispering to their seatmates, dropping names for discussion. Crankston glares at me.
“Okay, that is enough, Miss Michaels. As interesting as your opinions may be, I don’t believe I asked you to share about it. I have already set out the course syllabus for the semester. What’s done is done. I don’t need you messing up my lesson plans for the whole semester. You are done. Now take a seat.”
OHHH, I’m so not done. He barely finished his sentence when I continued on. As if he never spoke at all.
Like Cinderella has once said, “Just because it’s what’s done doesn’t mean it’s what should be done!”
That catches him in surprise. So did the rest of the class. Even Emile mildly looks up from his phone. His face was uncertain if he did hear me quote a Disney princess. Tia was keeping a straight face on but I can see her lips twitching for a smile.
“Why should we ignore the accounts of the women and stick to the words of arrogant, self-entitled and boorish pri-
“Uhm, Mister Cranston,” Tia interjects in a soft sweet voice, her RP accent clear as a bell. “Sorry to bother you but – the quiz?” She gestures to her book full of highlighted lines and additional notes.
This breaks whatever murderous thoughts Crankston has for me. He clears his throat, trying to regain some composure.
“Why, yes, of course. Thank you, Miss Benvidez, for reminding me.” He flashes a smile at her before casting me another look of utter disdain. “Miss Michaels, for the last time, take a seat before I change my mind of letting you take the quiz.”
I open my mouth to say something. He beats me to it when he sharply adds, “And not another word.”
I glance down at Tia who was dutifully sitting on her chair. She shakes her head as if telepathically telling me, enough.
I sigh in reluctant withdrawal.
Without taking my eyes off him, I make a show of raising my hands at the level of my head in surrender. I walk over to the seat by the window next to Tia and plop down. I dump my bag on the floor. I place my hands with my fingers locked together on my desk like a student eager to learn.
He grunts but knows better than to comment further unless he wants another verbal spew from me. Instead, he goes towards his desk where he picks up a stack of test papers.
Good boy. I smirk.
I turn to Tia and whisper, “Thanks.”
“No problem,” she replies, her eyes still glued to her book. “Don’t see why you needed to amp up the attitude on him, though.”
“Meh,” I shrug, “Felt too good to pass it up. Besides, you’re the one who told me not to pull the fire alarm and distract him. Had to entertain myself somehow.” I say it like it all adds up. Which it does-ish.
She strays her eyes from her book and looks at me sarcastically. “Yeah, by pulling down the man’s ego. Genius move, right there.”
“I had to pull something down, Tea.” I explain myself in an earnest tone. It was, after all, the way things work. It was how I work. She knows that.
From the corner of our eyes, we catch Crankston subtly scratch his junk as he assesses the papers. As if that couldn’t get any worse, he brings the papers to his face and sniffs.
EWW!
Somebody pour a bottle of sanitizer in my eyes please!
We turn away.
“However, I have my limits too.” I stipulate, my face still cringing in disgust at the sight I’ve recently witnessed.
Meanwhile Crankston, who was unaware of us witnessing his tiny action, moves to the far right of the room with test papers in hand. He then starts his mandatory spiel.
“Okay, class. You know the rules. Phones in the bag, if you don’t have a bag put it in on the floor.” He motions at Emile to tuck his phone on the floor. Emile does so in displeasure and glares at him. Crankston ignores it.
“Put your bags on the floor under your table. I don’t want to see anything on your table except for your pen and your paper. Keep your eyes only on your table. No cheating. If I see anyone look at their classmates, catch them using their phones or using hand and feet signals – I would know you’re cheating. So none of this,” he makes a series of hand signs, “or this,” he taps his right foot in a series of sounds.
Damn, is he trying to do some sort of Morse Code or hand signs for fuck?
“If any of you does so otherwise just because you think didn’t study enough or can’t comprehend the topics,”
Is it just me or is he looking at me specifically?
“Doesn’t give you the right to cheat. “Yup, he’s looking at me alright. He even narrows his eyes.
He thinks I’m gonna fail. Aww, shits and giggles! I’m so touched.
“Is that clear?”
A few of the class – Tia included – mumble, “Yes sir”.
I roll my eyes at him. Like I care. In spite of it, I make a show of putting my phone in my bag and drop it on the floor. I sit up straight and give him a look of an innocent well-behaved child.
“Good,” he nods, “You may start once you get your paper.” He then begins to distribute the papers for each row.
I wait patiently for my paper to be handed to me, tapping my feet on the floor in the process.
TAP… TAP…TAP…TAP
COME OOOON.
Any day now!
I look around. Everybody else, even the first two rows in front of me was already answering their papers. Being the last in both the rows and columns, I would be the last to start answering my quiz.
GEEZ, it’s not rocket science to pass a few pages of papers. Monkeys can do that. They can do that and fly up into space. I sigh, monkeys are so cool.
I am so binge-watching on BBT to-niiight!
A few moments more, the girl in front of me – FINALLY! –handed me the two-page test paper and I immediately write down the basic information consisting of my name and the date today. Once, I’ve done that, I read the instructions and the following questions.
Encircle the letter of the right answer…
Hmm, multiple choices. And here I thought I can entertain myself with some essay-writing. I wasn’t really kidding when I told Crankston I wanted to waste my time.
I sigh.
Might as well just get this over with.
First question, ‘On what year was Rome founded in?’
I automatically encircle ‘D. 753 BC’.
‘In Roman clothing, what color was considered as a symbol of royalty?’
Now this one is interesting, considering the color was so rare it took at least a thousand snails to make a small portion of the dye and that itself is worth a large weight of gold. Even the color we know is still questionable if it’s real or synthetic purple. Hence no flag has the purple color.
Okay, geeking out! Next question!
‘Differentiate the Plebeians and the Patricians’
I encircle ‘A. Vespasian’ as the first Flavian emperor.
I yawn. This is so boring. Why couldn’t he put in questions as to the origin of the word ‘sinister’ and its relation to the left-handed citizens of Ancient Rome, or the accumulation of methane gasses in the Roman sewage systems that blew up public toilets and even more so the truth about the Roman Hygiene and the concept of Epicureanism then have us write a justification over it? Actual analyzation as per the higher-order thinking skills in the academia’s Table of Specifications instead of lower-order thinking skilled questions?
Oh, right. ’Coz we barely need to use half of our brains in this class.
It wasn’t long until I encircle the last answer of the last question of the entire quiz.
HURRAY!
It’s not like it was some sort of accomplishment though.
I slouch further on the back of my seat, tracing my hand on the smooth varnish of my desktop. I look at the round black-framed wall clock hanging on the wall above the class board.
TICK…TOCK… TICK… TOCK…TICK…TOCK, the clock goes on and on.
Twenty more minutes to go. Twenty. Fucking. Minutes.
I groan silently.
Our school believes in the eight-subject-per-day system from 8:30 AM to 4:25 PM with forty-five minutes for every class, one hour of lunch and ten-minute breaks in between classes. I snort, as if the ten minutes were enough to travel from one class to another in this big-ass school. Not to mention – hello?–student traffic.
God forbid the fucker running another red light in front of me again!
Just from the sound of it is like torture!
A torture that I have been living in for the last three years.
To think, just because I’m a senior now, classes would’ve been less hectic. But, NOOO, the school board just can’t have that. Rather, they pressure us to be more academically-involved! They’ve already used up my time in my classes I don’t need the added work!
Of course, to be fair, all I ever did in those classes was either sleep or argue with my teachers. Not that I have something against all my teachers. Nope. Just the mean annoying ones who treat me and other academically or financially-challenged students as scum.
Nonetheless, back to my point earlier. I could’ve done something more productive during those wasted times. I think.
Overall, I can’t wait until graduation – then I am out of this hellhole for good!
I tap my pen on the desk. I reflexively look out the window. The only good thing was that there wasn’t another person between me and the window.
It was, after all, one of the main reasons I chose to sit next to it.
So I didn’t have to look through the person and have them thinking I find them fascinating.
Whenever I felt too cooped up inside the room with monotonous academic drudgery, I would look outside my window and bask into the warm light of the sun. I would stare at the horizon of where the blue sky kisses the earth and the birds perching on the thin but strong branches of the birch trees beside the building. Sometimes, if I’m lucky, I could see something interesting from the parking lot. Most times it’s just an ordinary empty parking lot. Still, something always bounds to get my attention somehow. I can’t help not to.
The only thing about the window seat though, is that even with the clear view it was still part of a see-through cage. I can see what was on the outside and yet I can never reach out to it.
An illusion of freedom.
Just like my life.
Damn, too early for deep brooding thoughts.
I wander my eyes from the mundane view at my side and glance around the room.
I watch as a couple of my classmates exchange glances and mouth their answers.
Some were scratching their heads, tapping their feet to stimulate their minds. The others were staring at the white ceiling, their mouths agape.
Hah! Like the answers could be found there.
I even catch a few biting on their pencils nervously and drop their heads on their desks in surrender. Seriously, what were these guys doing before Crankston gave the test?
The cheaters, two guys whose names I never cared to remember, were now craning their heads and gesturing wildly, forgetting the number one rule of being inconspicuous. It wasn’t long when Crankston finally catches them.
WHACK! WHACK! The muted sound of a two hundred to three hundred – give or take – paged softbound book consecutively hitting two human skulls echoes in the room.
Emile slightly jumps in surprise behind my right. Tia, on the other hand, was concentrating on the last page of her test paper. The rest of the students return their attention to their papers while Crankston takes the papers of the two guys.
I merely shake my head. What a bunch of amateurs!
“Ave-y,” I hear Emile sweetly whisper under his breath.
I spoke too soon.
I ignore him and focused instead on the board in front of me.
I glance back to the wall clock again. TICK…TOCK…TICK…TOCK
I was unaware that I was tapping my pen incessantly now or that every sound was rebounding inside the room. Even my foot was shaking like crazy. All that I could hear was that taunting sound of the clock.
“Miss Michaels.”
Crankston repeatedly snaps his finger in front of me, trying to get my attention and snatch me from my thought-filled haze.
SNAP!
“Michaels!”
SNAP!
“Avalon!”
SNAP!
That last snap did it.
I turn my head around, stretching my legs when Crankston was suddenly in my face.
“What?!” I retort, glaring at him.
What the hell! Did this man ever heard of the term ‘personal space’? I can smell his funky tuna breath!
Who even eats tuna for breakfast?!
I peek at my classmates. Luckily, they were too busy with their quiz to even look. Being the class rebel and with the light verbal spar earlier, they have probably gotten used to it. Plus, they had bigger things to worry. Like taking a dumb quiz, for example.
“Miss Michaels, it looks to me like you can’t sit still,” He turns around and settles his gaze on Emile before facing me again, “or stop turning around.”
No shit! That’s because I have ADHD, you asshole! I wanted to snap at his face but I hold it in.
I don’t want to make a big deal out of it anyways. Can you imagine what would happen if these morons find out? With their ignorant close-minded minds, I’ll be a bigger freak than I already am.
Anyways, it has never interfered in my day-to-day functions for some years now. Just as long as I take my daily morning coffee, I’ll be fine as hell. Also, my afternoon coffee and evening tea.
Siiigh, the life of an ADHD student. Insert dramatic effect with the back of my hand against my forehead. Spotlight focused on me amidst the darkness of the room.
I was so lost in my thoughts that Crankston’s voice abruptly cuts through.
“It also seems that your sight is in need of fine-tuning too.” He says, his head an inch closer.
I crinkle my nose, “Too bad my nose works just fine.”
Ph-EW!
“That’s it, stand up!”
I insert my pinky finger in ear, pretending to clean it. I blow the imaginary earwax away to his face. “How about, ‘no’?”
He momentarily looks at my desk until he sees my test papers.
“I am taking your test paper-Oh it seems you are finished,” he snatches them from my desk, “You wouldn’t mind if I check, do you?”
Why not? It’s not like I have to say anything about it since you already took them from my desk, was what I wanted to say. Like, why bother asking people when you’re still sticking to your own shit anyway?
Instead, I shrug disinterestedly. “Be my guest.”
Tia, who was already finished with her own paper, looks up curiously.
I watch too as Cranskston’s face loses its smug appearance as he scrutinizes my answers again and again.
He gapes at me with an incredulous expression then back to my papers. Finally, he hisses out, “Impossible. Empty your pockets!”
GEEZ! Was it so hard to believe I can actually ace his test? That I actually had a brain without having to kiss his ass to pass?
He didn’t even wait. Instead, he searches the pockets of my jacket instead, squeezing them with his grubby paws for my phone or a hidden device of some kind.
Tia gives him a WTH look from behind. When that didn’t satisfy him, he slips his hand inside.
Okay, I slap his hands off before he could. “Paws off, man!”
I pull the inside linings of my pockets and show them to him. I do the same with my jeans.
Nothing. “See? No need to cop a feel.”
This seems to anger him further. You know the expression of people’s faces turn red? Well this guy’s face is turning pale. The veins in his forehead bulging.
“Did you use a cheat sheet?” He pushes me aside.
Talk about ungentlemanly conduct! He ducks his head under my desk.
Ooh the temptation to kick his ass and let gravity do its job. It’s just too good. I inwardly rub my hands with glee at the thought. Maybe the force would push his brain out of his ass and into his head.
“Is it here? “He runs his hand under the desk, feeling every nook and cranny for a slip of paper or a secret compartment.
“No, it’s on your forehead.” I reply dully.
The others snicker.
Seriously, why do people have to ask the stupid questions? Like what kind of a person would ever admit to having used a cheat sheet if it incriminates them? More importantly, what kind of a teacher expects a failure from his student? Or the better question is, why would he ever think his students would never learn anything from him?
Times like these I am justified to give a sarcastic answer.
“Don’t you dare take that snarky tone with me! I know everything I need to know about you the first time you have set foot in my class. You’re a selfish, arrogant, lazy and a self-entitled brat who knows nothing better than to frustrate this class with your meaningless sophisms and trashy talks just to pull them down with you. Frankly, I don’t know how you even got into this class. This is an AP class for Chris sakes! Not a bird course for addled minds like you,” he sputters angrily, pointing a finger at me.
Yup, that’s teacher of the year, right there! It must’ve taken him a week to come up with this. I call that talent. As much as I want to slowly clap my hands in a sarcastic manner, I didn’t.
Instead I hold up a hand to stop his angry tirade and yawn loudly with my mouth wide. “Are we done here?”
I didn’t wait for him to reply. I pick up my satchel from the floor and walk away from my desk until I am a few feet from him. “I have better shit to do than stare at your weasel-ly face all day and endure your empty accusations and prejudice just because you’re too shallow and would rather depend on rumors than to actually get to know your students.”
Crankston opens his mouth to spout unintelligible curses. The more this man becomes angry, the more he sounds dumb and makes me feel dumb in return. Just in time, I was already turning on my heels my hair flying at the movement and hitting him at the face.
Now, it would’ve looked comical from my classmates’ perspective but for me, it was a flinch fest.
Just the thought of the strands of my hair grazing Crankston’s mouth, makes me want to hurl.
I saunter past the obstacle course of bags and stray feet
Don’t trip, don’t trip, don’t trip, I silently chant.
I reach the front door in secret relief.
I twist the knob but not long before that I turn around and pin Crankston with a drop-dead look.
“Also, slight tip. Calpurnia starts with a ‘c’ not a ‘k’. You should consult a grammarian too. You misspelled the Punic Wars with Penic Wars.”
Behind him, I see Emile giggle. Tia just watches in amusement. I see some students shuffle their papers, trying to find out if I was telling the truth or not.
“To be honest, if everyone here got that question wrong, then it’s on you.” I point at him with my finger.
“Well, it’s either that or this subject is all about making up words now. Also, at least try to use mouthwash or ask for a Tic-Tac. I’m sure anyone here would gladly give you one – or ten. It won’t hurt to get rid of your funky-ass breath. In fact, it would be a celebration if that does happen. Another thing, get a wet wipe or a sanitizer for your hand before you hand out the test papers next time. You’re not fooling anybody where your hand has been in. “
Then, in a high-pitched sweet Valley girl voice that would’ve done Ashley Tisdale proud, I open the door and wiggle my fingers. “Toodles.”
BAM! I slam the door shut.
That went well.
Now all I need to do is figure out how get these Crankston cooties off my hair.
Google don’t fail me now!787Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFNxC6gnBhH
Copyright © 2019 by Andrea Cassandra Lei MeñosaAll Rights Reserved.
ns 15.158.61.48da2
